Balut The Slapsoil Wanderer

28th of August So I was sitting yesterday in the sofa gobbling a variety of food of odd combination plus drowning myself with pure pineapple juice in the late afternoon after doing the (forbidden) laundry, when suddenly I was startled by a fierce knocking on our front door accompanied by the shouting of my full name that can be heard up to the next barangay. I almost knocked down the foldable table that carries the food I’m gobbling while hurrying to check who the h*ll this intruder interrupting my glutton solitude. (I was eating a lot thinking that I could regain my lost strength for not resting while I’m unwell). I peeked at the window and found a wrinkled old man with a bag dangling on his shoulders.  The bag looks like as old as the man who is wiping his forehead with his left hand while his right hand is holding a bunch of envelopes.  Aaaah!  It’s the mailman!  I curiously asked, “Why didn’t you just leave the mail at the gate like you usually do? And the mailman’s reply